ay's work was done and after he had laved
his face and hands in the overflow from a public fountain in a little
square.

Then he hurried to the house of the good woman.

She was busy with her dishes in the kitchen and Rosemarie was on the
knees of a young woman who sat and rocked in one of the sitting-room
chairs.

Farr entered by the kitchen door and stood there, looking in with some
confusion on the girl and child.

"It is only Zelie Dionne; she is my boarder," the woman informed him.
"She is a good girl and she has the very nice job in the cloth-hall of
the big Haxton mill. She lives with me because I was neighbor of her
good folks in the Tadousac country, so far away from here in our Canada.
Come! I make you acquaint. You shall see. She is a good girl!"

Zelie Dionne rose and acknowledged the introduction with a French girl's
pretty grace. A bit of a flush lighted the dusky pallor of her cheeks
when Farr bent before her. The bow in her hair was cocked with true
Gallic chic and her gown was crisply smart in its simplicity. Her big,
dark eyes were the wonderful feature of her face, and Farr looked into
them and seemed to lose a bit of his cool self-possession; he faltered
in speech, groping for words in the first commonplaces.

"You must talk together. I must work," said the good woman. She hurried
back into her kitchen.

The child ran to Farr and climbed upon his knees.

"You have been good to Rosemarie. I thank you," he said. "I suppose the
good woman has told you how it has happened."

"Yes, when I came at noon." Her tones were peculiarly sweet and
compassionate. A touch of accent gave piquancy to what she said. She
looked at him meaningly. "I have been talking to our little Rosemarie
and she will not cry any more for her good mamma who has gone up to
the green hills because she is sick and must rest. So Rosemarie will be
patient and live here and I will be play-mamma."

"Yes, play-mamma," agreed the child. "Good play-mamma! Two mammas! But
only one papa!" She put up her arms and tucked them about his neck
and snuggled down with a happy sense of complete understanding of his
protection. At last, so it seemed to her, she had recovered the father
she had never known. Poor, little, caged bird, her release from that
lonely prison was dated in her happy consciousness from his appearance
in the doorway, and all things had been well for her after he
came--sunlight, the trees, the blue sky, and tender care, and